"But I don't have anything for you," she whines, her lower lip jutting out.
"I don't care," I laugh. "I didn't get it so you'd get something for me in return. Please, open it."
She narrows her eyes at me, but gives in to my request, untying the ribbon Granny wrapped so beautifully around the box. After what feels like an eternity, she finally opens the box, gasping softly at the contents inside.
"Jack, this is beautiful," she whispers, lifting the gift from the box. Holding the hook up high with her fingers, a dozen pieces of thin string, all different lengths, unfurl from a wooden hoop,each with a pale yellow fabric butterfly attached to the end. "Where did you find this?"
"The same store I found Ellie's painting," I murmur. "I saw it and remembered you saying how much you like watching the butterflies when the flowers bloom during spring. I thought Little One might like them, too."
Her gaze stays fixed on the antique baby mobile, mesmerized by the butterflies fluttering slightly in the stream of warm air from the ceiling vent.
"Merry Christmas, pretty girl," I say, stepping up close behind her and reaching around to spin the mobile. "Do you like it?"
She watches it spin for a few more moments before gently placing it back in the box and turning to look at me.
"I love it, Jack," she says, eyes sparkling with tears. "Thank you."
"Hey," I say, wiping a tear off her cheek. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
"Happy tears," she says with a watery chuckle. "This is the best gift anyone has given me. How do you always know exactly what I want, even before I do?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "I pay attention, I guess."
It's the easiest thing in the world to pay attention to you.
"I love you, Jack Robbit," she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Merry Christmas."
"I love you, too," I say simply in return. Because I can't tell her what I really want to say, what I'm really feeling in this moment.
Which is that the only thing I want for Christmas is to never have to let her go.
Chapter 26
Abby
Twenty Five Weeks
Aaron loved Christmas. He would be in the kitchen nonstop, and I swear he would live off a dozen different kinds of Christmas cookies for weeks. We always go all out with decorations, a complete overhaul with a new theme every year. Some of our best work was recreating Whoville, the neon garlands and lights brightening the house in a completely new way.
I barely had the energy to put up the tree this year, and even then, Jack had to string the lights. The only Christmas record I've put on is Elvis, and the only song I let play is Blue Christmas. It's like Aaron took the spirit of Christmas with him when he left, and I've turned into Ebenezer Scrooge.
Jack is on duty this Christmas, and I've spent all of Christmas Eve staring blankly at the tree, unable to focus on anything but the suffocating weight of missing Aaron.
Eventually I drag myself off the couch, relying on muscle memory to get me to Dad's in time for dinner.
"Okay, can I just say," Nathan says through a mouthful of pot roast. "This Christmas is kind of a bummer. I mean look at Abby, she looks like a lost puppy."
"Nathan, be kind," my dad says sternly.
"I'm not saying it in a mean way," he says defensively. "No duh she's not in the holiday spirit this year. I'm just saying, maybe we don't sit here and pretend like this is a normal Christmas. Maybe we call it what it is and wallow on the couch eating Christmas Cap'n Crunch straight out of the box."
"Can you please be normal?" my dad sighs impatiently.
"Back me up, Abs," he says, looking at me. "Do you want to be at this dinner table right now?"
I shake my head, not looking at my Dad. I don't want to see how disappointed he is, but I want to be sitting at this table even less.
"Let's go then," he says, his chair scraping as he backs away from the table. He grabs the cereal box from the pantry, then drags me by the hand from the kitchen to the living room.
